"Mmm. I'm glad they found you." He was sure to send his prayers once a day—originally thoughts of love and wishes for his safety, soon joined by ruminations on his fondest memories, or something that had occurred during the day: the shade of a renowned athlete that turned up at the gates, the figs that Persephone had finally brought from the surface, Méli's new habit of snapping at butterflies, the new hideous fish Zagreus dragged from the depths of the Styx that they named together and added to his codex (and later asked the cook to prepare ... only to find it tasted as revolting as it looked). Achilles wasn't sure any of it reached Hermes, but the practice brought him comfort.

He drags his index finger along Hermes' jaw and curls it under his chin, tilting his head to meet a kiss. It's slow and savoring, as if he were coaxing all of the tender meat from one of those rare figs. He knows he'll only enjoy Hermes' company for a day or two—then he'll be off again to continue his dangerous campaign.